


Sink your Teeth in Me

by AlertsDontExist



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannibal drugs a bunch of people, Hannibal kidnaps a bunch of peope, Hannibal's being Hannibal what can I say, M/M, Vampire AU, Vampire!Will Graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:20:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29108448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlertsDontExist/pseuds/AlertsDontExist
Summary: Hannibal comes across an old mansion in a snowstorm and discovers it's not exactly abandoned.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 10
Kudos: 110
Collections: Hannibal Flash Fic #004





	Sink your Teeth in Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is barely edited and hit me in a flash of beautiful inspiration.

Hannibal approaches the tall house. It’s a decrepit mansion, ages old and abandoned for almost as long, at least as far as he can tell. The paint has long since peeled, the roofing is collapsing, and he’s frankly surprised it’s still standing at all, given how weak the few remaining supports look. Nevertheless, the high snow banks are rather tiring to walk through and the snow that had once clung is starting to melt. It would really be a shame to ruin such clothes when he had the chance to avoid it. The chilling wind, blowing so much snow around it’s impossible to tell what is new from the sky and what has simply been picked up from the surroundings, draws Hannibal’s coat forward around him, as if gently nudging him towards the dark building. How frequently he seems to end up in places like these: born to them or always escaping to another.

The door - left ajar despite its closed lock - creaks like a dying scream as it opens, spilling light into the rest of the interior. All things considered, it had likely been very nice when it had been kept. The main entryway is spacious and the ceiling extends up to the very roof of the house, giving the impression one much larger than what Hannibal knows he’d seen from outside. Dust and cobwebs cover everything, and he suspects if he lifted the sheets over the furniture, each one will be faded with time and wear. Each step is taken carefully, tiptoeing around the frightening mess of the floor, though not all of it can be avoided. The wind picks up outside, swishing through the trees moments before they reach out with their branches and scratch at the windows like souls begging refuge from the storm. The sounds echo through the house, just as clear and sharp as the _crunch_.

Taking a step back, Hannibal examines what has just been crushed. Among the sticks and leaves everywhere, there are also books, various utensils for writing and eating, and the odd picture frame scattered over the floor. There’s even a dirty ball, once rainbow colored, over by the piano in the middle of the room. None of this is what Hannibal found under his foot, however. To his surprise, when he lifts his shoe, he instead finds a bone, now snapped in half. It’s an old thing, like - nearly - everything else here. Worn thin and weak with time, it would probably be a rather nice specimen if it was cleaned up a bit. And if it hadn’t just been broken. But that couldn’t be helped now, so there it lay. Hannibal regards it curiously, then picks up the picture frame next to it.

The glass slides away from the frame, various shards breaking apart yet further as they hit the ground. A man stares back from within the picture, sharp and firm. There is no smile on that face, and the dark clothes look as though they were made for the picture, not the man. It’s difficult to make out much, given the photo is in black-and-white and so old that much of it is faded already, but it isn’t completely gone yet. 

It’s interesting to see such a photo, Hannibal muses, given another just a few feet away. The same man, and yet, someone entirely else. His eyes still hold that sharp dedication and firm no-nonsense business. But that is the only similarity. His face, now, is stretched into a wide smile, crinkling the edges of his eyes, likely laughing. The clothing this time feels much more suited to him, comfortable and confident, subtly extravagant. His arm is wrapped around a woman, who Hannibal assumes to be the man’s wife. She smiles too, but holds herself primly, reserved and stoic. There is a fantastic love between them, they practically overflow with it, even through the picture. Hannibal finds himself charmed by this strange couple, one he would never meet, and yet feels as though he had touched just by being here.

Silently, he thanks them for their hospitality, and stands to explore the rest. Only to find that it may not be them he should be thanking when he turns around. He had assumed the inconsistent smell had been from the wind moving a draft inside somewhere, blowing something from one of the rooms. This, apparently, was not the case. Very much not the case, given the young man standing before him. 

“As likely as it is two strangers could find themselves taking refuge from the wild ways of the natural world outside, it is doubtful two strangers would find themselves here. May I assume you are the owner?” He shakes off his surprise and exchanges it for honest curiosity. “I do apologize for intruding. I was not aware there was a caretaker.”

The man simply regards him with narrowed eyes. His frame is positively _frightening_ , so thin his clothes hang from his body like they are numerous sizes too big despite barely being the right length, and his hands are practically skin and bone. He is pale as sand, making his dark hair stand out all the more. It hangs in wavy curls down past his shoulders, bangs tucked away for the moment behind each ear. He stands like a cornered animal, ready to pounce at any moment. The man trembles, minutely, and his glare doesn’t stray for a moment. Upon hearing the question, he merely inclines his head, as though he isn’t used to such things. To anyone else, this man would have appeared horrifyingly inhuman, like some creature crawled back from the grave, they would have frozen in fear. 

Hannibal is enchanted. 

He smiles, warmly. “I think that’s a yes, then.” He continues, “Whether you can understand me or not is irrelevant. There’s no need to speak if you do not feel inclined. I believe that may be one of many similarities between us.” 

The man loosens his stance, hesitantly. “What,” he clears his throat. “What do you want?” The sentence comes out hoarse and gravely in a voice that has gone unused in a great amount of time.

Hannibal gestures towards one of the many windows. “I was hoping to simply wait out this snow, if I may? I promise to leave the moment I am able, and shall intrude for only as long as I am forced to.” It feels strange, asking for help, but Hannibal is satisfied enough with his appeal.

The stranger straightens, then nods, jerkily. “You can… stay the night. I’m sure you can find your way by morning.” Hannibal doesn’t miss the loosened jaw the man holds as he runs his tongue over his teeth while turning back around. “There are some things in the kitchen I can get you if you want.”

Hannibal follows him deeper into the house, pausing a moment to peer into each room as they go. The kitchen is slightly better kept, the counter is at least swept off and the cabinets scarcely stocked with little things. The man takes a piece of oddly shaped meat from outside in the snow and sets it inside the brick oven. He lights the wood beneath and waits for it to heat up.

“This is quite a place for one to be living by themselves. I admit I am quite keen on the idea myself, but not without company, at times.” Hannibal breaks the silence, if only to regain those eyes once more, as quickly as they look away.

“You get used to it, after a while.” He pauses, pulled back in by the fire for a moment. “I’m Will.”

“Hannibal,” he responds. “Thank you. I would feel a terrible guest if I didn’t at least offer to help, particularly given my abilities in culinary studies. Is there anything I can do?”

Will spins around, “No! No,” he ushers Hannibal back to his seat. “I, uh. I got it. It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” 

They make small talk while the meal cooks, slowly, and Hannibal grows more and more charmed by this curious boy. He has lived there as long as he could remember, at first with the previous owners before they had passed, and then alone. It had fallen into disrepair when the last of the tools he had been using to fix things had broken and he handn’t the money to replace them. The lack of funds also explain the food shortage in the kitchen, and by extension, the gauntness of the man’s frame. It has been a long time since anyone else had been here.

The first bite of food has Hannibal’s eyes wide. He had begun to suspect something with the smell, but had quelled it with his tiredness and simple hunger. It was likely such a thing shared smells with other food as well in the same category. It was unlikely he was to be fed to his personal tastes. The taste, however, is not so easily discarded. From the moment the flavor bursts on his tongue, Hannibal knows exactly what he has put in his mouth. It’s a different flavor than what he has known up to this point, but it is! The smokey richness and dryness did nothing to disguise the fact that this meat is, in fact, human pig.

Hannibal isn’t sure at first how to approach this. He’s distracted for a moment by a rush of memories reminding him the first time he was fed human meat by someone other than himself, which very nearly causes him to spit the bite back onto his plate. He manages to swallow instead, and notices his host watching him. He debates bringing it up, but decides against it when Will motions for him to take another bite. There may be some ulterior motives here, and he can possibly use this knowledge to his advantage. 

When he finished eating, Will takes him upstairs and showed him to his room. It’s s just as open as the rest of the house, and just as dusty. Hannibal helps him flick the covers a few times to shake off as much as they can before settling them back on the bed.

“Need anything else?” Will is already at the door, palm over the side, ready to pull it closed. 

Hannibal shakes his head, “No, this will be quite enough, thank you.” 

Will nods, satisfied, and leaves. The door is left slightly open, and Hannibal notes that these hinges don’t make a single sound, nor does the door itself. Laying back, he falls into sleep with both ears alert.

Which doesn’t help at all when Hannibal is suddenly awoken by a weight settling over his midsection. Instinctively, he rises, lashing out at whoever it is, and slashing at them with the small knife kept nearby. One hand is caught in a strong grip, though the other finds its mark uninterrupted. Will’s other hand is busy grasping Hannibal’s jaw, tilting his head to one side. 

“Always more fun when you’re awake.” His grin is wolfish, and though that voice still wavers, there’s a dark laugh beneath it, like this is all just some game. Hannibal can see now in the moonlight his lean shape. And the reflected light off the man’s sharp fangs. 

Not to mention the slice across the man’s throat has not deterred him in the slightest. The cut is there, of that Hannibal is certain. But no blood drips from the wound. At least, not from that one. The claws now digging into Hannibal’s captured forearm certainly draw blood, more as he struggles. Will is distracted by it, turning his attention away from Hannibal’s face to his arm. His free hand releases Hannibal’s jaw and comes to hold the arm steady so he can lean in to it, mouthing at the blood seconds before it drips onto the bedding, and licking his way up to the cuts. At each one, he seals his lips over the source and suckles for a moment before moving on to the next.

Hannibal is mesmerized for a moment, and a small myriad of other emotions as well, but realizes quite quickly that this will likely turn bad should he stay much longer. He indulges Will as he looks about for the nearest possible escape. He knows the best option is back through the front door, but the likelihood of him getting there suddenly seems rather questionable. The storm is still howling outside, and the snow has already been high when Hannibal had arrived, so it’s reasonable to assume they might be safe to land in now. 

Grunting, Hannibal throws himself sideways, taking Will by surprise as they roll over the bed and tumble to the floor. The other man snarls as Hannibal scrambles to his feet and makes a beeline for the window, and launches himself towards the escapee. Hannibal falls with a small sound, feeling the claws teach at him once more and turn him face-up.

“Oh, you don’t _get_ to leave. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I last ate? You’re such a lovely meal, I’m not about to waste you.” Will crawls up Hannibal’s body, catching both arms now and slamming them to the ground as he straddles him, leaning forward to bare his teeth at Hannibal in one last show of aggression before ducking his head to nudge Hannibal’s aside to better expose his neck.

“I can imagine it’s been quite a while. Since you last ate plentifully, at least. Your last victim was still fresh enough to feed me, though, so it hasn’t been more than a few weeks.” Hannibal pulls at his held wrists, fruitlessly.

Will hums, thoughtfully. “True. You knew? I thought I saw something in your face. I wondered if I should apologize for not having frequent visitors. It’s true, but not the real reason I don’t know much how to cook.” He licks at Hannibal’s neck, finding the vein.

“I could bring you more food, if you like.” It’s desperate, he knows, but this seasoned hunter apparently can’t feel pain and has superhuman strength, so there’s not much choice otherwise. “A reliable source of meals, for both of us. A shame to waste such an opportunity, but I understand the feverish demands of starvation. I would have loved to hunt with you, Will.”

Hannibal fights off a sigh as Will pulls back into his view. “Why would I ever believe you?”

“That is entirely up to you. You really have no reason to, and yet, you can’t help but wonder if my offer is genuine. A bat and a lion hunting together, I wonder what we could do.”

There is conflict in the young man’s face, and Hannibal knows he understands each word to be true. The feeling is so foreign to him, he has never opened himself up like this to anyone, let alone so quickly. But this is a strange circumstance, and - hopefully - a strange partnership. Will’s hands loosen their grip, and he sits up for a moment. Hannibal takes the opportunity to repeat his earlier attempt, this time with better results.

He twists sharply, throwing Will and hearing his head smack solidly to the ground. Those lightning reflexes return and Hannibal leaps bodily through the window, shattering it in an instant. The snow swallows him up in a cushion that still knocks the breath out of him, but Hannibal knows he can’t stop. He fights his way out and back to the road, jogging lightly for a few paces to rid himself of the excess adrenaline coursing through his system. The morning light is beginning to reflect on the clouds, and he knows he will not be followed. 

Hannibal is delighted with what he has discovered, and knows what he must do. He sets out, feeling the wind whip at his injuries, and plans what next to do. He passes by a few houses and reaches a modestly large town by early afternoon. By now, he has made himself presentable and is able to make his way unimpeded. 

He finds quite rapidly his subject, and the plan begins. The target in question is one of the higher members of the town council, who shoves past Hannibal with a scoff, a glare, and a shout of “watch it!” as he passes by. He doesn’t know that he is followed home from that point, nor that his house has welcomed more than one person long before the rest of his friends arrive late that afternoon. All of them are equally loud and rude, which Hannibal is quite happy for. This will turn out even more perfect than he had hoped. 

Over the course of the next few hours, each person is lured one by one away from the rest, drugged with a modest homemade concoction, and their comrades none the wiser for their absence. At least until the last ones finally get smart. Where there had once been 12 people sharing the rooms, there are now only three. Their panic grows, tenfold as they discover all the doors locked and barred, and Hannibal finds himself delighting even more with each capture. 

The nice thing about a gated house with a large lawn in the middle of winter at 6 pm is that absolutely nobody will notice a figure carrying numerous unconscious politicians and associates out to one of the - admittedly beautiful - cars in the driveway. 

Hannibal pulls up to the mansion with a car full of drugged pigs an hour later, nearly giddy with excitement. This time, he walks smartly up the path, leaving the car parked just beyond, and knocks on the door. Upon receiving no answer, he knocks once more, and turns back to the car. He retrieves one of the bodies while he waits, and is happy to find the door open when he returns He steps inside, fully expecting the young man inside to land on him from one side or the other, even with the luggage on his back.

He is pleasantly surprised, instead, to find that no such thing comes, and he is free to set their new guest down on the floor without interruption. “I would appreciate if you would help me retrieve the others, Will,” he speaks to the open air. “I think it should be more than dark enough for you to join me outside.”

He returns with the next one to find Will looking over the man on the floor, checking his pulse with quiet disbelief before glancing back up to find Hannibal laying another one down beside the first. “What is this?”

“A fulfillment, first and foremost. I always keep my promises.” He pauses in the doorway to glance backward. “And a gift. Or an apology. Whichever you prefer.”

There’s suspicion in Will’s glare. Reasonable, given how they parted less than a day ago. “And what if I don’t want either one?”

Hannibal grins, crookedly. “Then it’s a meal I hope we can share.”

With a sigh, Will comes outside and helps him unload the rest until they’re all spread out neatly in front of the piano that had been moved early on. Most of them are still sleeping soundly, but three have begun to stir. Hannibal looks to Will to find him looking back expectantly, daring him to make the first move.

“This is your hunt, Will. I just brought them into the den.” Hannibal gestures to the first one, and steps back to let Will do as he pleases.

The young man lights up with excitement and glances once more to Hannibal, still suspicious, but now there’s a hint of joy there too. Hesitant, but there. His hands fall to his sides and fingernails grow and thicken into those claws as he rolls his neck and bares his now-extended fangs. The man on the floor is wildly disoriented, but still manages to get to one knee before Will reaches him. The man looks around frantically, discovering he is not where he thought he was just a short while ago, all his friends are spread out near him, also asleep, and two men are watching him with a very similar look in their eyes.

Will sinks his teeth into the man’s neck, who cries out loudly, then starts to go limp and lets his body be moved by Will as he likes. After a few moments, he is entirely immobile, and already he is starting to pale with bloodloss. Will drains him entirely and drops him bodily to the floor. He moves on to the next woman, who startled at the man’s cry and is now drunkenly struggling to her feet. Will jumps at her, knocking her haphazardly across more bodies, She too yells and tries to strike, unsuccessfully, before Will leans in and latches his fangs to her neck. She kicks limply for a moment more, then droops, and lets him drain the rest of her calmly. He turns to find the third one who had awoken earlier, and finds the man bearing down on him, one fist flying towards his face. Will blocks the punch, then grabs the same arm in one hand and the man’s head in the other. He’s still too drugged to do much of anything to prevent Will from biting down. 

Hannibal can see Will’s face this time, blocked as he was the first, and turned away the second. Will looks absolutely blissful, slowing down now and not feeding in a frenzied hunger fueled by starved desperation. His eyes are closed under a peaceful brow and wild hair tumbling in all directions from the hunt. He seems content to follow the body as it lowers slowly to the ground, happy so long as he may continue to drink his fill. Hannibal marvels at how close he came to this very fate. He can’t find it in himself to be upset to go in such a way. 

Will detaches as the last of the man’s blood is pulled from him, and shoves the man to the ground. Will stands again, wiping the smeared blood from his lips. He is still horribly sunken, but he stands taller now, with more strength, and his face doesn’t look quite so flighty. His lips are painted rich ruby red and glinting with his blood-stained teeth in the dim light. He looks a starving man who has found himself a meal and intends to enjoy every moment of it. Hannibal doesn’t realize his breath has caught in his throat until he lets it out. 

“I assume this house has a cellar of some kind?” Hannibal inquires once he’s got ahold of himself. When Wil nods, he continues, “I suggest we move the rest of them there, then. They’ll have a chance to cleanse their blood of contaminants, and we can preserve them for a later time. I would not suggest consuming too much all at once.”

They work in tandem to move the first few, then Will does the rest while Hannibal takes care of the dead ones, carving as much as he can from them and setting aside the rest to find something to do with them later. Will still seems wary of Hannibal and his intentions, but he will come around soon enough, Hannibal is sure of that. Will finishes first and comes to watch Hannibal work for a time, silently observing. It’s difficult to properly carve with only his small knife or centuries-dull cutlery, but not impossible. The cuts are crude, but manageable for now. Hannibal smiles, and glances up at Will. 

“How are you feeling?” He notes that the man seems to be more energetic now, a spark of energy that has him on his toes, rather than crouched back to his heels.

The response is easy, “fine.” 

“Do you trust now that I have both our interests at heart?” He genuinely believes Will does, but his better judgment is still warning him in remembrance of the man who took a knife to his neck 12 short hours ago.

“I don’t know,” Will responds. “You make a good case. It remains to be seen if your case follows through.”

Hannibal nods. “A reasonable conclusion. This is only our second meeting, after all. I hope in time you can come to place your faith in me as I do in you, Will.”

Will scoffs, eyebrows raised in amusement. “And what faith do you have in me? What reason do you have to place faith in me?”

“The same reason as you,” Hannibal gestures up and down the both of them. “I saw a hunter in a pressing environment and wanted to help.”

“You think I want to help you, Hannibal?” He moves to lean against the countertop, voice dipping ever so briefly before lifting into the question at the end. His tone is so musical, Hannibal wishes only for him to talk more, and lose himself in that voice.

Hannibal pauses, “I think you can’t say no, right now.” He’s won and he knows it, but he doesn’t feel the need to rub it in Will’s face. Such circumstances that he is familiar with discourage him.

He finishes up for the night, replacing everything properly and feeling quite satisfied for the time being. He had heated up a few pieces while he was preparing everything else, so he wants for nothing now but sleep. He can’t help but cheekily play before moving upstairs.

“Is that bedroom only for your prey, or is it truly for guests as well?” Hannibal sees Will’s eyes flash at the question, the gall of it.

He softens as he speaks, though, likely realizing Hannibal’s tease and playful wishes. “You know as well as I do that this house hasn’t seen guests in a long time. You may sleep where you desire.”

“And if I desire to sleep at your side? I find myself drawn to company after so much time alone.” Hannibal isn’t sure what he wants, but this man has called to him, so he would not be opposed.

Will smiles sadly in return. “That I cannot give. I don’t sleep when you do, and my bed is suited only for one.” 

“Then I shall sleep where first you found me and await the day you welcome me.” Hannibal retreats with a small bow of his head and recalls well which room it was. 

Sleep does not come as swiftly as he would like tonight, but the thoughts buzzing through him are not so unwelcome. They speak of what he’s done, and who he’s done them for. In truth, Hannibal had arrived here expecting nothing more than to find a place to settle so he could start a comfortable practice. Things had gotten difficult along the way, such as losing his car a ways out from civilization, but it had led him to discovering a friend. The very last thing altogether Hannibal expected was to find a friend. He wants them to be friends. Will has struck him as interesting just as much as he has struck Hannibal as beautiful, in every way he can see. A hunter with a sharp mind and sharper wit, and clearly haunted. The comfort surrounds Hannibal and he is able to nod off.

The next morning comes without incident. Hannibal is never woken up by a presence landing across his torso in the night, and he does not wake to discover himself somewhere _other._ The sun comes through the window, and the morning is crisply chilled. He moves downstairs and prepares a breakfast before tossing a fair amount of what’s left to the prisoners, now awake and frightened. They cry out when the hatch is opened, and shout louder when it is closed and locked. Hannibal smiles. He smears whatever he can find over the car to disguise it, and packs snow across the license plate just enough to change it. Satisfied, he heads back into town and is pleased to find it in a bit of an uproar. He’s able to get what he needs without too much trouble, and people are gossiping a mile a minute in the streets about who could have possibly kidnapped half the town council and a number of upstanding citizens alongside them! After thinking for a moment, Hannibal also gets a few extra things, knowing they will be appreciated. He’s back at the mansion before the sun goes down. 

He unloads everything and puts what he can away, leaving the rest out for Will to do with as he likes. Then, he awaits the other man in the largest room, taking time to tune the piano. It’s incredibly old, and in desperate need of a recoating of polish, but it tunes up just fine and Hannibal gets it back in shape without too much trouble. 

“Another gift?” Comes the voice from behind him, not entirely upset at the idea.

“If you like.” Hannibal turns to see him, happy to see Will going through the tools with care, taking each one out and examining them before placing them gently down beside him. “I thought you might enjoy taking up some of your old hobbies again.”

From there they develop a kind of routine. Each day Will fixes something around the house, something small until they can plan for bigger projects, and Hannibal either fetches their newest prey or does something in the house himself, either for his benefit or the both of theirs. Gradually, he and Will start to align their sleep schedules so Hannibal still has time to go into town during the day, and Will still is awake in the dark so he can move about freely. Each day starts and ends the same: quietly, but with soft promise. Hannibal is happy with the promise. Even if that’s all it ever is. He pushes already daily for more, so he is satisfied. Will is doing better too, now. No longer is he a haunted, gaunt little thing that can hardly stand on his own two feet and leaps to prey like a starving creature. Now, he has filled out his clothes shapely, his eyes more steady and focused, and he no longer trembles with each kill. As if Hannibal couldn’t be any more enamored, this man is incomparably after his own heart.

They’ve been at it for six months now. The house is looking better, both of them are settled and comfortable, and everything flows without much conflict. They may have small disagreements here and there, but nothing of consequence, and nothing of lasting frustration. Hannibal stops in the doorway just a few seconds behind Will as he chases their latest meal. They’ve taken to letting them roam around the house a little before giving chase, it makes teasing them such fun. They always catch them eventually. Will has even let Hannibal kill every few nights, though he always complains about how much good blood Hannibal wastes being so messy. Hannibal simply grins and continues working. Will is fed well enough. Tonight, they’re trying something new. Tonight, they hunt together. Will jumps atop their latest catch, knocking it to the floor. He sinks his fangs into their neck, refraining this time from injecting them with venom, he knows Hannibal likes to see them struggle. Meanwhile, Hannibal moves to the front and slices into their chest. He pulls the blade all the way down from the chin to the naval. He plans on taking many organs tonight, as many as he can extract while they’re still living. The person jerks as he does, dislodging Will’s fangs, and there’s a moment where a spurt of blood leaps between the gap and splashes over Will’s face. Hannibal drinks in the sight of it, and doesn’t realize the person is falling forward as Will wipes the blood from his eyes until they fall into him, covering his entire torso and lower arms and face in blood as well. 

Will looks at him pushing the body up and bursts into laughter. He rolls his eyes and settles himself back in place as Hannibal gets back to work. It’s a symbiosis between them, strange yet lovely. They each work in their own ways, using their own designs, and yet they achieve the same result. It feels like one singular machine. They finish up quickly after that and put everything away. Hannibal very nearly starts cleaning himself of blood before Will pulls him away.

“I keep saying you waste so much good blood, I think this time is the worst I’ve seen.” Will is caught somewhere between accusatory and burying giggles, and Hannibal can do little but chuckle in return. “I’m not letting you waste this much - this one was pretty good too.”

Hannibal thinks Will might just wipe the blood from him somehow until the man lifts his fingers to his mouth and sets his tongue to him. He stands there, dumbfounded mostly, as Will moves over both hands and forearms, licking away blood wherever it had been. He thinks he’s come back to himself by the time Will’s done only to remember his arms weren’t the only part of him that had gotten splashed. His neck and chin are also wet, and if Will is intent on getting all the blood off of him, then--

“Can you taste a large difference in blood, then? I imagine your senses are even more acute than mine.” Hannibal desperately grasps for something to distract himself from Will sucking gently at his neck.

Will speaks here and there as he moves to a different spot, “some of them. I think they’re rather similar to what you taste, not altogether unique to each person, but I don’t care enough to keep a list.”

“Have any of them struck your fancy?” The man had crept up his jaw and Hannibal isn’t about to let his voice waver now.

“Just one,” Will murmurs, taking one of Hannibal’s lips between his own and letting his fangs out ever so slightly to drag over it, just enough to let him feel the tiny prickles of teeth he all too well knows the danger of. Taking advantage of that and the fact that the man is frozen now to answer him before the question is asked. “Yours.” 

Breathless, suddenly, Hannibal whimpers back, “ _Mylimasis…_ ” and is lost.

He falls into Will’s arms, kissing him desperately as Will returns his affections. He wonders, distantly, if this is what all the other victims felt like as they were sapped. Helpless, reverent, and content to be devoured by a creature so profound that the very sun is jealous of his beauty. Hannibal tugs on Will’s curls as he’s backed into the counter, gasping as he feels the light nip of those fangs.

Will pulls back, finally, and Hannibal stumbles forward, chasing his taste. “Do you recall what you asked of me, the first night you arrived?”

Hannibal feels dazed, but racks his brain, wondering exactly which question he was asking for. “I asked a great many things of you. And you have continued to indulge me.”

“All but one,” Will helps Hannibal out of his shirt, uncomfortable now with drying blood. “Come, I’m tired, and I wish to share your bed. It has been a long time since last I slept with a warm body near me, and I think I realize I miss it.”

Hannibal sheds his fancy clothes, and watches with fascination as Will does the same, revealing just how strong he’s become since Hannibal arrived. Each dip and curve of that skin laden with muscle and fat, and he wants to share it with him. As much as Hannibal wants to spend hours feeling every inch of that flesh, he can’t argue. That hunt was fun, but they had dragged it out for hours, and it was meant to be their last for the night. They’re both drawn and ready to sleep. So, for now, Hannibal settles back into the bed, wrapping his arms around the cold body that curls around him, and drifts. He turns towards Will, feeling and breathing and _knowing_ he’s there, and sleeps with him. Comforted and happy, sleeping like the dead.


End file.
